


Bad Soldier

by pokeasleepingsmaug



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Heavy Angst, Hurt and comfort, Modern Era, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Smut, serious injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 02:08:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10777230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pokeasleepingsmaug/pseuds/pokeasleepingsmaug
Summary: This was originally supposed to be a filthy one shot, but then it grew into this monstrosity. Ivar is a lieutenant in the army who develops a forbidden sexual relationship with one of his soldiers. After they're both injured during combat, they turn to each other to cope with what happened.





	1. Bad Soldier

He was sprawled against the side of the large tan tent, in the sliver of shade it provided against the harsh desert sun. He glared up at you as you appeared, the scowl only making his sculpted features even more beautiful. Lieutenant Lothbrok was more beautiful than any man had a right to be. It was completely unfair that you had to work with him every day, to stare at his perfection and long to taste every inch of his probably flawless skin, when to follow through on that impulse would completely ruin both of your careers. 

“What do you want, Y/L/N?” he snarled at you. You'd known some shit went down, but you weren't sure what, and you had been sent to find the lieutenant after he stormed out from the update briefing. He seemed to tolerate you better than anyone else, probably because nobody else was patient enough to deal with his high-strung personality. He was easily one of the most intense and intelligent people you had ever met. He drew you to him like a magnet, you were completely helpless against his pull. Most people tended to give him a wide berth, but you were forced to work closely with him every day. After all, he was basically your boss. 

“They sent me to find you, sir,” you answered honestly.

He sighed and slapped at the sand beside him. “Sit down, then.” You obeyed, and he scooted closer to you until your thighs were pressed flush to each other. “You know, Y/L/N, you're probably the only person in this whole battalion who isn't a fucking asshole at least ninety percent of the time.” He paused, rolling his jaw. “Besides that time you bit me when we were sparring.”

“I have to use every advantage I have. You've got like seventy pounds on me.”

He laughed, the sound warming you. “I fought MMA for a couple years, too. There was no way you were going to beat me. But damn kid, you just about made me lose my mind when you did that.”

“Why?” You had felt strangely thrilled biting him, even if it was his calf you had bitten as he used his leg to pin your face to the sweat-damp mat. You would take another mouthful of leg hair anytime, if it meant you got to taste him again. 

“Because this.” He lunged at you, pinning you underneath him easily, and crashed his lips hard against yours, his teeth hitting against yours almost painfully. He parted your lips with his tongue and drew yours out to meet his before biting sharply on the tip of it. You yelped into his mouth, and he laughed, swallowing the cry. “Shut up or both of our careers are over.” 

His voice was serious and commanding, but his hands were already unbuttoning your camouflage trousers. “What if we get caught?”

“If we get caught, then we're both fucked. If we don't get caught, I'm going to be the one doing the fucking. You're basically my little bitch already, why don't you be my bitch in the truest sense?” His harsh breathing and blunt words sent a wetness gathering at the junction of your thighs, and he swore under his breath as one finger found your folds, moisture coating his fingertip. “You want to be my bitch so bad, don't you? You're a bad soldier. I'm going to punish you.” He pushed himself off of you, leaving your pants half-undone and your mouth swollen from his hungry kisses. “Meet me in my office in exactly two minutes. No more, no less.” And then he stood in one fluid motion and was gone, leaving you trembling and eager on the hot sand. 

You followed after about a minute, walking into the tent and straight to his office. The door was closed, so you knocked twice. “Enter.” His voice cracked like a whip from the other side, and you pushed open the door. He looked down at the stopwatch in his hands as you closed the door behind you. “One minute and thirty-two seconds, Y/L/N. You did not follow my orders. I'm going to have to punish you even more than I planned.” His brilliant, cool blue eyes appraised you, sparkling with passion. “Strip.”

His tone brooked no room for disagreement, and you hurried to obey, tangling your legs in your baggy uniform pants and nearly tripping in your eagerness. He tsked disapprovingly at you, but said nothing. “Good. Now come here.” You walked quickly to him, not wanting to delay whatever punishment he had in store for you. His hands were warm and firm on your skin as he bent you over the desk. Nothing happened, and you turned your head back to look at him. With a growl, his nylon-covered chest pressed into your back, and he nipped your earlobe. “I did not tell you to look. Close your eyes.” You closed them.

His hand cracked across your backside, and you barely managed to stop yourself from crying out. “Good girl,” he crooned, his fingers gently stroking the point of impact. “If you take your punishment well, you will be rewarded at the end.”

“What's my reward?” You asked, excited and a little afraid. 

“The privilege of sucking my cock after I fuck you with it. You get to taste my cum and your juices and know what we taste like mixed together. Don't you want that,my little bitch?”

“Yes,” you moaned, almost completely undone at the thought. 

“Then you better be a brave girl about your punishment,” he warned, with another resounding slap across your ass. You flinched, but didn't make a sound, and were rewarded by his tongue tracing the red mark of his hand on your flesh. You felt him shift behind you, heard the rustle of his uniform as he knelt. His warm breath teased your nether lips, followed by the light drag of his even white teeth against your already inflamed folds. 

You wanted to scream from the sweet pain of it, but you didn't dare. How badly you wanted to taste yourself on his prick! Two of his fingers parted you, allowing his tongue to slip easily into your slit. He set a grueling pace with his tongue, eating you like a man starved half to death. You came undone on his hungry tongue, the taste of your juices barely quenching the thirst that raged inside him, and with a hard bite to the ridge of your hip, he stood and lowered his pants, dropping them to the floor.

You were still bent over his desk, and he slammed his cock into you from behind. Your eyes were still closed, so you hadn't seen him and had no idea what to expect. You turned your head to your arm and bit down hard just below your elbow, releasing the pressure of his massive cock into your own flesh, since a scream would be the end of both your careers. A whimper escaped through your clenched teeth, and he laughed as he started moving in and out of you.

He was the biggest man you had ever taken inside you, and the pride in his laughter was obvious. He set a grueling pace again, the sweet, sharp pain of him stretching you to your absolute limits only adding to the overwhelming pleasure. He hit a spot in you no one had ever reached before, and it wasn't long before you came completely undone on his cock, pressing your backside desperately against him, grinding your teeth together to keep from screaming his name like a banshee.

He suddenly pulled himself out of you, hands clamping on your shoulders to turn you around and force you to your knees before him. He tangled his hands in your hair, guiding you to his throbbing, reddened tip. You swirled your tongue over his head to taste yourself on him, moaning as you slid him into your mouth. He gasped, the vibrations of your moan almost enough to send him over the edge. He thrust into you, hitting the back of your throat. You gasped, spluttering around his thick length, and he chuckled as he withdrew, only to hit the back of your throat on the next stroke. One more time, and you felt his cock twitch in your mouth, felt the thick saltiness of his seed bursting into your mouth. After you sucked every last drop from him, he withdrew his cock from your mouth with a small pop.

He watched, eyes gleaming with fascination, as you rolled his seed inside your mouth, tasting the mixture of him and you, just as he had promised for your reward. He grinned, satisfied as a sated wolf, as he watched you swallow. “Such a bad soldier, but you handled your punishment like a good bitch.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar and the reader have another encounter while on duty.

He came to you a few days later when the guys in your team had stepped out of the office, wearing his body armor, kevlar helmet tucked under one arm. You had stolen some time together when you weren't working, but since the first time you hadn't been together when you were on duty. It was very risky, to put it mildly. The lieutenant strode quickly over to you, pressing his fingers into your knotted shoulders in a quick, teasing massage. “So tense,” he said, smirking. “What do you have to be worried about?”

He knew, of course, you saw in his eyes that he did, but he wanted you to say it. “What if we get caught?”

“We won't,” he assured you. “I sent Fowler on a very important errand to grab some documents from the plans guys at battalion.” His kevlar dropped to the floor with a loud bang, startling you, and he laughed. He enjoyed how jumpy you were, enjoyed the power he had over you. He was pulling the velcro on his vest and that soon followed the helmet to the wooden floor.

Before you had time to react his hands and lips were on you, running over your body hungrily, his mouth melded to yours so you could taste the sweetness of his full, pouty lips. His tongue demanded entrance and you gave it eagerly, wanting only to give him everything he asked. His hands opened your uniform top to cup the curve of your breasts through the t-shirt underneath and you gasped into his mouth. You could feel his pleased grin against your lips, and although you couldn't see it, you could picture the cocky smirk in your mind. 

He pulled back suddenly and you whined at the loss of him, but he leaned forward to whisper in your ear. His warm breath tickled your cheek and you shivered. “I want you to say my name.”

“Ivar,” you told him softly, and he shook his head.

“My full name. And my rank. Tell me who I am. And then tell me who I am to you.”

“First Lieutenant Ivar Ragnar Lothbrok.” The arrogant smirk on his kiss-swollen lips drove you on. “We are intelligence analysts, and I report to SGT Fowler, who reports to you, but because of how the shifts are set up, I work more with you than with him. I am your willing little bitch, but if we get caught, our careers are ruined.” His bright blue eyes were triumphant, hungry for more.

“And do you like being my bitch, Y/n? Would you ruin your career for me?”

“Have I ever denied you anything?”

His hand cracked sharply against your cheek, turning your head sideways. It stung, but you knew he would never hit you hard enough to leave a mark. Any suspicion would have to bring your forbidden relationship to a halt, and neither of you were willing to risk that. “You did not answer the question.” His voice was hard.

“Yes. I would ruin my career for you over and over.”

“Good girl,” he crooned, fingers stroking softly over your slapped cheek. You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch. When you met his gaze, his blue eyes were limpid and warm, filled with tenderness. He smiled gently at you before switching back into his domineering manner, pulling your tan t-shirt back to suck at your shoulder; leaving his mark where none would see it but him and you—a constant, invisible reminder of him. Other such marks covered your chest and torso, your upper arms and thighs. He loved the blossoming bruises on your skin, praising the way the deep purple centers faded to yellow, the contrast of colors against your pale skin. 

And when you were alone you ran your fingers over them constantly, reliving the memory of Ivar's lips on you. Even just thinking of him often was overwhelming, need driving you to relieve yourself with your own fingers. You threw your head back as he sucked, tangling your fingers in his soft black hair. He wore it long, just barely on the wrong side of the regulation, but nobody tended to bother your lieutenant too much. You loved the feel of it between your fingers, thick and silky.

His eyes were dark and hooded with lust as he moved his lips to yours, hands wandering to the belt that held up your pants, but you caught his hands to stop him. He drew back, twisting his hands to grab your wrists tightly, almost painfully. “You will deny me, Y/n?”

“I have my period, sir. It would be too much of a mess to clean up. We could never hide it.” 

He cocked his head, considering this, before nodding in agreement. “You're right. You will pleasure me with your mouth today.” He met your eyes in a warm promise. “And when we have the chance, I will return the favor.” His words sent a slick, hot rush between your thighs, making you tighten with need that wouldn't be met today. He must have seen it on your face, because he laughed lightly. “The wait will make the satisfaction even sweeter, my good, patient little bitch,” he assured you.

You nodded, your hands going to unfasten the belt and push his trousers off his hips. As always, you admired the deep vee cut of his hip muscles—what little you could see of it from beneath his tan t-shirt. You could see the bulging shape of his erection through his white boxer-briefs, and a sigh of longing escaped you. Ivar smiled, thrilled to see the affect he had on you. 

You leaned forward, pushing his underwear down. He was eager to feel your mouth on him, locking his hand at the base of your neck and guiding your head down. You bowed willingly beneath him, licking your lips. You placed a quick kiss on his tip and he gasped as you parted your lips, sliding his thick head into your mouth. You hated to make him wait. 

He was long and thick, difficult to maneuver in your mouth, so you began slowly to give yourself time to adjust. You wrapped one hand around his shaft, holding him in place and stroking him slowly up and down. Your other hand found his balls, cradling them. On a sudden impulse, you spat his cock out. He growled, trying to push you back onto him, but you fought him. Your sucking lips found his balls and he moaned, a little too loud but you were too proud of drawing that reaction that you didn't care. You licked first one ball, then the other before placing the flat of your tongue against the ridge along his cock. You licked it in one slow stroke to his tip.

You teased him with your tongue just a little before taking him back into your mouth. You felt him shuddering, trying hard not to be too loud, but you were determined not to make it easy for him. You took him as deep as you could handle without setting off your gag reflex, and his fingers dug into your shoulder hard enough to bruise. 

You began bobbing your mouth up and down his length. His hips bucked wildly and you closed your eyes against the tears that welled up from the gag you could no longer control. The sound of you sputtering and choking drove him wild and he exploded into the back of your throat. You increased the pressure of your sucking, drawing a soft groan from him as he withdrew himself from your mouth. You swallowed his salty, bitter cum before kissing his softening cock and rocking back onto your haunches.

His muscles were slack, his jaw hanging open as he tried to compose himself. “My god, Y/n, you get better at this every time.” His blue eyes met yours, glinting wickedly. “Next time, I'm going to make my bad little bitch scream for me.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A convoy goes horribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Blood, explosions, IED, serious bodily injury. 
> 
> From here on out, this story becomes heavy and sad and read at your own risk type of thing. I'll post trigger warnings for each specific chapter in the notes at the beginning of the chapter. 
> 
> I promise it will have as happy an ending as a story like this can have, but it's going to suck for a while.

“You were supposed to take a right back there,” LT Lothbrok quipped over the dull roar of the humvee's diesel engine.

You snorted, not taking your eyes off the narrow road winding before you. “I was not.”

“How do you know?” he challenged you, the route analysis open on his lap.

“Because I created that fucking route analysis you're looking at, dipshit. You think I don't know my own products?”

“I was just testing you,” he said, satisfied, leaning back into the uncomfortable seat. You finally spared him a glance. You liked to look at him when he didn't think anyone was paying attention. Sometimes his features relaxed out of their usual scowl and he looked almost peaceful, like he did now. He turned to catch your eye and winked at you, laughing, “Keep your eyes on the road, Y/n.”

You obeyed, a content grin on your face as an easy silence crept between the two of you. Your relationship was really beginning to blossom into something beautiful—despite the rough way he used your body, you had never felt more respected or cherished than with Ivar. You scanned the road ahead, brows furrowing. “Ivar.”

“Mmm?” He was relaxed, eyes half-open. 

“There's no people.” That got him sitting bolt upright as panic rose in your chest like a flood.

“That doesn't mean anything.” he assured you, voice steady but bright blue eyes uneasy. “Keep going. There's people up ahead there, see? By that house on the left. We're alright, Y/n.”

Your knuckles were white on the steering wheel as you kept your foot steady on the gas, the heavy, armored truck lumbering along. You forced yourself to exhale, but it ended in a scream as the entire world seemed to flip on its axis. Your head, encased in about three pounds worth of Kevlar, ricocheted so violently from the steering wheel to the armored door you thought your neck would snap. Smoke filled the entire cabin of the humvee and your skin felt like it was pierced by a thousand red-hot needles; you thought maybe you were dead except wasn't that supposed to be peaceful? Surely there was no animal being ripped limb from limb in heaven, because there was no other possible explanation for that ungodly noise above you. Maybe you were in hell?

Dizzy, head throbbing, you tried to orient yourself, come back to the present. Ivar. He was here somewhere. The humvee was tipped on its side, nothing was visible through the spiderweb cracks in your window. To get out, you had to climb. Toward that horrible keening screech, toward Ivar. Your hands were shaking so hard you could hardly unclip your seatbelt, but somehow you managed through the haze of terror. It rolled over and through you, trying to smother you; you bowed your head and clambered slowly over the stupid radio strapped between the two seats. Useless piece of fucking trash. 

Something bounced off your helmet—you didn't see what, there was so much shit in this stupid truck—and a wave of nausea hit you so hard you had to stop to breathe, perched halfway atop the strapped-down radio like a lizard sunning itself on a rock. But the screaming was growing fainter, hopeless, and you forced yourself to continue, moving first one hand and then the other, then one foot and then the other, with what seemed to be agonizing slowness. You just couldn't move any faster. Your body simply refused.   
You reached the top of the radio and slithered down carelessly, landing on Ivar's lap and already fumbling for his seatbelt. A voice inside your head—sounded like Fowler, weird—was screaming at you from the other end of a tunnel, “get out of the kill zone, get out of the kill zone.” You found yourself chanting numbly along, needing something to keep you present so your head didn't float away like a kid's balloon. 

Ivar's blue eyes bored into you, glassy, but his mouth was twisted in a horrific grimace and that same terrible noise you had been hearing spilled from his full lips. You slid from his thighs and onto the floor, barely registering the tangled mess of bone and tattered flesh that existed where shins should have been. You pulled up the door handle, slamming your shoulder painfully into the door, but it crashed back down into place. “Get out of the kill zone, get out of the kill zone, get out of the kill zone,” you reminded yourself, trying to summon a strength that had long since abandoned you. 

You closed your eyes, holding your breath, and tried again. Again the door crashed down. Your throat ached from breathing all that smoke and your head swam. “Ivar,” you cut through your chant, feeling like you were speaking underwater. “Help me open the door or we're going to die.” His hands joined yours and the two of you managed to push the door hard enough so that it swung fully back. The thud of armor on armor told you it was open completely. 

“C'mere,” you muttered, shoving your shoulder into Ivar's armpit. You took a deep breath and heaved the two of you toward the open door. His fingers scrabbled, struggling to find a handhold, and after a brief struggle you both tumbled unceremoniously to the packed dirt of the road. You blinked in the sudden sunlight, the air a little smoky but much clearer than what you had just been breathing.

You screamed, flailing feebly, as rough hands grabbed under your armpits and hauled you away. You were certain it was either an enemy or an angel, but either way you knew you were dead. Your screaming stopped suddenly as an armored door slammed closed and the driver floored it, leaving the kill zone behind in the rising dust. The sudden acceleration made your head jerk, and the nausea finally won as the contents of your stomach emptied themselves onto the floor of the humvee, mixing with an alarming amount of blood. You barely had the presence of mind to fumble in your shoulder pocket for the tourniquet you kept there and shove it into Fowler's hands. “Lothbrok,” you muttered, seeing him terrifyingly still in the other seat. “Tourniquets on's legs.” Your chin dropped toward your chest. Your head was so heavy. 

Fowler grabbed your shoulders, slapping your cheek gently. “No no no Y/n stay awake.” He turned to the person in the passenger seat. “Did you call in a fucking nine line yet?”

You didn't hear the answer, couldn't focus on anything except making your mouth form a word. “Mawake,” you garbled at Fowler, your eyelids heavier than they'd ever been. “Outta kill zo.”

“Yes we're out of the kill zone. You saved the LT's life. Don't go to sleep!” His hand slapped you again, and you batted feebly at it. You were so tired. “Y/n!” His voice was sharp but so distant, like there was cotton in your ears. “Y/n!” And then finally there was silence after so much noise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things from the chapter.
> 
> When there's no people in a place that's usually relatively busy, it can be a warning sign that area insurgents have something planned, like an IED or ambush, and that the locals are aware of it. 
> 
> A medium sized kevlar helmet weighs 49 oz, or about 3 pounds. 
> 
> Some IEDs contain things called Explosively Formed Penetrators, or EFPs. Even though they're in an up-armored humvee, these EFPs can pierce the armor and injure soldiers. Here's a wikipedia link if you want to read more.  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Explosively_formed_penetrator
> 
> Nine line: a medevac request, so called because there's nine lines of info. Another link:  
> http://www.armystudyguide.com/content/army_board_study_guide_topics/First_Aid/9-line-medevac-request.shtml


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader wakes up.

You came awake so slowly you almost weren't aware of it, the transition between unconsciousness to wakefulness as gradual as the changing of seasons. The sheets were soft beneath you, the air pleasant and smelling strangely of.... clean. It smelled so clean, but that didn't make sense. Your base in Iraq smelled nothing like this. You could feel your brow furrowing, feel panic rising in you like a striking snake. Your mouth twisted in a scream: the sound of running footsteps and a woman's calm voice—her hands stroking your sweaty hair in a vain attempt at comfort. You thought maybe you were screaming for Ivar—he needed you, but you couldn't remember why. That woman's voice again, soothing, telling you it would be alright but you knew in your gut she was lying. Burning in the crook of your elbow, like the fire in that damn humvee, and then slowly encroaching, the same familiar feeling of oblivion.

…..

Waking up was so wonderful. Everything was wonderful. Your limbs were made of light and all was well. You blinked your eyes open, seeing the dingy whiteness of the ceiling, light streaming in through the white mini blinds on the window. You turned your head slowly, a small blue vase of flowers on the bedside table. There was a card in there. It took a long time for your hands to grab it, and you were clumsy. The vase clattered to the linoleum floor and broke into pieces, but you had the small square of cardstock in your hand. The letters swam before your eyes, refusing to arrange themselves into words.

You sighed and rested your hand on the blankets, blinking languidly. A woman in brightly colored scrubs was suddenly before you, smiling. “Good morning, sleeping beauty.” Her voice was light and pleasant, and you felt your mouth twisting up into a matching smile. 

Something about her words awakened a memory in you—Ivar kissing your cheeks, whispering those same words to you after you'd fallen asleep together. He'd woken you with those words, sent you back to your own bed. Spending the night together was too dangerous. You sighed in complete bliss, the memory sending tingles through your body. Ivar.

Her smile faltered. The first crack appeared in your perfect peace. “Do you want something to eat? You must be hungry.” Her pleasant tone seemed forced this time, but you couldn't figure out why. The moment of unease passed. “I'll have someone bring you something,” she promised, leaving you with another sunny smile. You much preferred Ivar's brooding scowls. You wondered absently where he was. Something dark and scary tickled at the back of your mind, but you didn't want to listen to it. 

Someone came with food, you didn't touch it. Some more people came in—took your vitals and looked into your eyes with flashlights. Checked bandages on your legs and back and arms. Hung a new bag from the IV pole you hadn't even noticed beside your bed. The dark and scary thing crept closer to your immediate thoughts, sending snaking tendrils of shadow into the shallow sunlight that seemed to be your entire mind. Your muscles began to ache, the sting of wounds on your skin made itself known. 

The dark and scary thing skulked ever closer, but refused to show you its face. From its twisted mouth came the wailing of an injured animal. It was impossible to know what the darkness held, and yet impossible for you to ignore it. Some questions slowly detached from the shadowy hulk; the fear radiating from the thing prompted you to demand answers. You left your bed. 

The tugging of the IV in your arm reminded you to grab the pole, which was fine because your legs were shaking. You didn't feel strong enough to walk, but you were too afraid to be alone with the shadows stalking in your skull. You were halfway to the door when a nurse walked by and saw you. She bustled in like a mother hen, gently scolding and herding you toward the bed.  
“Where am I?”

“You're in Germany.” 

“Not Iraq?” That's where you were supposed to be.

“Not anymore, honey,” she crooned. “You're safe here.

Your heart pounded, and you wiped your sweaty hands on the hospital gown.“Where's Ivar?”

“He's here, too.” Her answer slowed your pulse, sent relief through you so strong you almost cried.

“Can I see him?” 

She shook her head. “Soon, I promise.”

“Tomorrow?” You were desperate and afraid, felt like a small cornered rabbit about to be eaten by a coyote.

“Maybe.” You didn't have the wits about you to realize she was being elusive, but you latched on to the shard of hope she gave you. Your entire body shook, and she pushed you back onto the pillows. “Get some sleep, ok?”

You were tired, the fear and the shadowy thing in your head were zapping all your strength. But you still had one last question. “When can I see Ivar?”

“When you're strong enough to walk to him.”

You nodded. “Ok. Tomorrow.” She tsked as you settled back against the pillows. You had to sleep, so you could be stronger tomorrow. You needed to see Ivar. You didn't know why, but you felt the pull of him calling you deep in your bones, as clearly as if he stood beside you and whispered your name into your ears. He needed you, and with that motivating you, you could find the strength to conquer anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so here's what's what in this chapter. The way she's acting is both the effects of the sedative wearing off and the effects of her injury. She doesn't remember what happened, and she has no idea what's going on with Ivar.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader finally makes it to Ivar's room. Things don't go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter, hope you guys enjoy it anyway!

Your head throbbed, the letters printed on the piece of paper scrambling themselves before your eyes. But even in the improper order, you knew this was the right room. You could feel Ivar inside, his soul calling to yours like a beacon; like a golden thread from heart to heart. You pushed open the door.

“Get out.” The voice was harsh, unrecognizable, somewhere between a hiss and a growl. Monstrous, like the dark mass still pulsating somewhere in your mind.

“Ivar.”

“Leave.”

“No.” You tried to dodge the vase thrown your way, showering flowers in its wake like a thundercloud, but you were slow and tired from your walk. Ivar's room was all the way across the hospital and you knew in the back of your mind you probably shouldn't have wandered so far. The vase bounced off your ribs, sending off a shock of dull pain, and clattered to the floor, empty and plastic. It didn't break, you noted dully as you stepped over it. “I needed to see you.”

Angry purple bruises blossomed on the pale skin that stretched over the rippling muscles and tendons of his arms. You had bruises to match, and your fingers lightly traced over them. A gash over his left eyebrow, held together with butterfly tape. Unkempt black hair; all you wanted was to run your fingers through it, scratch his scalp the way he liked, feel him relax under your hands. His blue eyes were hard and cold, some distant place under a different sun. His arms were crossed over his chest. Untouchable as an ancient god.

“I don't need to see you.” Each word was a knife thrust between your eyes. Everything hurt, from the shrapnel in your legs to some primal thing hammering in your skull. “Go away.” His voice, unlike the vase, broke. You stepped toward him, slow and ponderous. Your legs folded beneath you, out of your control, and the walls seemed to waver around you. “Y/n? What are you doing?” His voice was exasperated now. “Get up.” 

The floor was cool against your forehead, a welcome contrast to the heat licking over your skin. “Y/n?” Ivar's voice came from the other end of a tunnel. “Fuck.” The last thing you heard, and all you could think was how nice that word sounded coming from Ivar's mouth.


End file.
